


Clarion

by BirdOat



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence - Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Deaf Character, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), On the Run, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25924570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdOat/pseuds/BirdOat
Summary: As the dust of Sokovia settles, a hermetic web-designer in Maine finds the last remnant of Ultron in her 10x10 buttercream kitchen. For three months Ultron lived in her basement. For three months Simone Kadam wondered if the devil at her table would be her own demise. For three months, beyond either of their intentions, the two formed an unsteady alliance as the world churned around them. For three months she waited for Ultron to regain his strength and leave her in peace, until a mutual evil drove them together: Hydra.Now, the very AI she planned to betray becomes her only ticket for survival. Having rebuilt his body and seemingly stopped the violent decay of his code, he accepts Simone’s plea for protection. Meanwhile the Avengers, still licking their wounds, work tirelessly to find the culprit of to a score of bombings that began since the tragedy of Sokovia.Oh, and someone mailed them Ultron’s head on a pike.//Simone was never good at making the right decisions, and for better or worse, neither was he. Ultron/OFC
Relationships: Ultron (Marvel)/Original Character(s), Ultron (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 215





	1. Getting A-Head

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This might be confusing but I started writing an UltronxOC fic years ago when I was 16 and lately I've been inspired to come back to it. Unfortunately I was very dramatic at that age and the earlier chapters are very long, need reworking and such and such-which I don't really have time for. I figured what the hell, and since act 1 of the story is finished I might as well finish the last two to get through quarantine. 
> 
> The summary is basically a quick catch up of the 17 chapters composing the first arc of their relationship. It all started as Ultron more or less taking over her basement to rebuild his body(being forced to house his Core-Code in a drone meant rapid decay-seizures, lack of connection, and limited processing.) He was dying. Over three months the two learn they don't hate each other, and in the face of an ambush from Hydra they go on the run. Simone is partially deaf, terribly scared of living in a world of heroes, but desperate to survive no matter what it takes.

Tony Stark weaved his fingers together over a pristine white table in a pristine white room with no art on the walls, just a pathetic fern shriveled in the corner. He had the aftertaste of Cheerios and whiskey broiling in the back of his throat, and last night lingers in dark rings around his eyes. In front of him is an accordion style briefcase open holding a severed head, behind him was Natasha Romanov, shrewd as ever, like a concentrated cloud of hate over his shoulder.

"Put it in the record: I am emotionally and physically hungover, and don't want to be here."

"Go fuck yourself, Stark."

"Thank you, Natasha," he droned.

The Spider rolls her shoulder and he's convinced she hasn't blinked once. She hasn't forgiven him for a single one of his many mistakes, and spent every chance she could making his life a (somehow) bigger nightmare. Slamming doors in his face, stealing his wallet, killing his plants-his microwave dinners haven't been cooking all the way through, either, and while Tony can't prove it he knows she's involved. He was keyed up, not that Tony would ever admit it. Animosity choked the air and the head on the table looked like it was laughing at him.

"Look, okay," He sighs, skidding a tablet to her, "Your time-out's over, Romanov, so don't bite my head off," there's a ping in the corner of Tony's eye, an alert from an Ipad to his left and a good excuse to leave if needed, "it's been, what? Three months since our new friend showed up?" He asks, pointing a thumb at the briefcase. "I'm only half a miracle worker."

"Have you worked on following the trail? Vision said you had a lead."

"No-"

"Stark."

Tony's imagination helpfully supplemented 23 ways involving just his own fingers the Russian could kill him, and flurries.

"But-but-but! But- HYDRA does. Did. Does?"

"Stark."

"I miss my first name, what happened to that?"

"You put me on house arrest."

"We're all on house arrest!"

Natasha looked away from the head for the first time during their meeting, and shot Stark with the most chilling glare he'd ever seen, like she was debating if it would be a greater inconvenience to kill him or deal with the consequences of choking him out on the linoleum.

"Okay, okay," he raises his hands in false defeat, grimacing, "Vision, as much as I hate to admit it, has been dogging HYDRA better than I have, but they've been mobilizing. I've gotten energy signatures I've never seen before outside of New York popping up all over the country. Those nazi fucks have probably noticed these signatures too, that's why Vision thinks they after the same thing we are."

"Actually," he starts, "let me show you."

Tony waves his hands in broad strokes before them. The light up display comes to life before them, silently. He jars for a second, half expecting Jarvis to ask which file he'd need before snapping back to reality. Electromagnetic synapses following his will, twisting and molding a map of neon lights. He takes them north, up and up and up to a frozen speck of a town. "Remember when you went to scare the mormons up in Maine? Well the activity in that area has been multiplying by the day. You might wanna head back."

Natasha furrowed her brow, resting a hip on the table, staring at the head.

The map of North America illuminated was speckled with dots, tiny clusters of activity slowly getting denser and more numerous in proximity to a very familiar town in Maine.

"You've got to be kidding…"

"Nope!" Stark claps, shining her the best smile he could muster, "You completely missed 'em! Don't let it get you down, take off's at 16:00 so pack your parka, Red."

"I don't like this, don't you think it's a little too obvious?" She asks.

Tony shrugs, "could be, but Hydra's been abuzz about it for weeks, it's not like we can ignore it."

"Unless someone wants to distract us."

"Oh wow!" Tony snaps, "if only I'd thought of that!"

Natasha scoffed, crossing her arms, muscles straining against the tight clothes of her blouse. He knew she was doing her job. He also knew it wasn't a coincidence they started picking up signals after the head appeared.

Tony rubbed his eyes, "Fuck, I know, alright? But it's all we got, FRIDAY's running surveillance for development and Visions… being Vision. Don't ask what that is I'm pretty sure he just sits around and focuses his infinite wisdom on turning greener. It's this or nothing."

Natasha grimaced, eyes sliding back the suitcase with its rich velvet lining. Her nose wrinkled, pulling her face into a slow, ugly expression. Tony watched her slowly pull herself up to stand, and wonders what she's thinking about while looking at that evil hunk of metal on the table. He doesn't say anything, for once, until he realized he's started staring at the head himself. His gut heavy, hands itchy, he remembers how they found it, in the middle of their lawn mounting on pike, still sparking. He remembers every wound opening up at the sight of it, dread coursing through their veins.

"We're fixing this." Tony blurts. A promise. Both of them knew it was directed at himself, the woman still snorted.

"It's too late to fix it, Stark, he's-"

"Don't-don't finish that sentence."

"You know it's true."

Tony swings around in his chair to met her in the eyes, furious, he can feel himself slipping away from control of the conversation quicker than he can handle and she hadn't even said its name. So he did what all Starks knew to do from birth, deflect, "What we know is someone left that damn head on my front porch. That's all, we don't know it's him."

"What about the note?" she challenges.

Tony looks away from her, resting his arms on the table, head hung low despite the sardonic grin on his lips, "Bad joke."

She hummed, making him feel worse. She had a knack for that. Tony knew he was being stubborn, but he was right, he had to be. He was dead, they checked, double, triple, quadruple checked, and sifted through every piece of rubble until their hands cracked.

Natasha strikes her heels against the floor as she leaves, but doesn't slam the door to make him jump for a change. Tony figures she just didn't have the energy for it, too exhausted by reopened wounds like the rest of them.

He sighs to himself, rubbing his temples and fixing on the head. Its scratched surface glinting back at him in the midafternoon light. His throat was tight, his palms itched, Tony tried to force a swallow. It didn't matter if Natasha thought he fixed it or not, he was a genius,he could do this, he had too, he didn't think he could keep doing this if- no. Tony catches himself. It didn't help to think about failure, it wasn't an option, not again.

The head leers at him, catlike sockets and sharp mouth, he could almost hear it taunting him. Ultron was dead. Deleted. Gone. Tony Stark collected his files stiffly, always flickering back at the empty eyes that clung to his every move.

He pulls the suitcase towards him, unfolding the spattered, worn paper folded into a square next to the iron jaw. Tony read the messy scrawl for the hundredth time, bile crawling up his throat. Miss me?

"Go to hell." Tony whispered, slamming the suitcase shut.

He stood and left, Ultron's head an unbearable weight in his hand.

There was no point being scared of ghost.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alright edited this bit from 2018 for context, what can you do! Next chapter isn't fun-sized, promise.

"Simone, wake up!” A voice calls, "Wake up!"

“Ugh...Ultron?” She grunts, rubbing the back of her neck, the cartilage between her joints angry from a night of compression. Oh, right she had fallen asleep on the coach. They watched a movie, she can’t believe she pulled that off. 

"Someone's here. Don’t. Move."

He’s standing by the window, a hand outstretched to the ungainly sprawl of her body. It was almost a nice picture she thinks, behind the throbbing in her skull. Crisp white light illuminated off the snow, seeping in the warmth of her home.

And then he's shot through the head.

She screams, kicking from the coach. Her windows explode, glass shattering as he's struck again and again and again and again and again until the beaten metal collapses. Blood roars in her ears, beating against the tightness and her neck and Simone if the noise coming from her is a scream or a wail. 

"Ultron!" The woman wishes she's brave enough to crawl to him, but she stays pressed behind the coach, "Ultron!?"

He doesn't spark, he doesn't move. Her body heaved as she understood what the deadlights of his eyes meant. Ultron was dead. Ultron was dead on her living room floor. Ultron was dead on her living room floor because he was shot.

With guns.

"Oh, _God_."

She scrambled, socked feet sliding across wood, spurned on by the singular objective to snatch the tiny weapon on her bedside drawer. That was all she had, but it was paramount. Simone does not stop when her doors crash down, she does not stop when a dozen of heavy boots trample through her home.

She rips it from the draw and fumbles, nearly dropping the weapon through numb fingers, unsteady in her palm. She swallows the sour bile in her throat and pulls herself through a bedside window. Iron and polymer scrape red into her skin, the snow burns when she drops.

Simone runs.

How was this happening? She doesn't understand. He never left her basement, and was so damn careful, always so paranoid. How did they know? The bark of a tree to her left erupts and splinters across her arms. How did Ultron not know? The woman tries to turn and gasps as arms lock around her waist. She bashed the butt of the taser against the attackers exposed knuckles, wiggling till she was able to kick free.

Staggered, she goes to kick him in the groin and her toe cracks against a metal cup. He grunts but stays standing. “Oh, come on!” She screams in frustration, bailing on her attack and bolting. 

"Yield!" the man demands, "Stand down!"

"Fuck you," The skull and tentacles pasted on the mans chest stares at her, she swerves behind a tree trying to unlock her gun and run at the same time-why hadn't she practiced this? "You killed my roommate."

"Last, warning! Stand down or we’ll shoot."

You already did, she thinks bitterly. 

The freezerburn on her feet hardly registers. What does, however, is the click of her taser snapping off the safety as she swings around, only to see the man plucked from the earth in an ungodly crunch of bones and meat.

A giant stands before her, dropping the man’s body to the snow, held away from him like something something rotten meat. His head was completely twisted around, facing the wrong direction. The bullets from her living room echo in the bones of her body, in her heartbeat, a terrible drum that coursed through her body. The metal giant steps to her, she panics.

Simone pulls the trigger.

By pure chance her taser lands on the exposed inner workings on its left, where a hole sparks in place of an arm. It crashes to its knees, shuttering, wild, and the machine’s hollow jowls glow like embers. Is this what shot Ultron? Why would it kill another Hydra agent? She realized there were at least 4 other sets of footsteps when they rushed her house, did it kill them too?

No. The mass, missing an arm, splattered in red looked up with eyes that knew her before shuttering closed, and she knew him.

"ULTRON?!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo

"Oh, God" Simone gasps, and drops to her knees fumbling for the silvery cords connected to Ultron. Her mind was spinning, streams of reality rolling over her brain and slipping away before she could grasp on. Her home was attacked, Ultron died, he came back, she almost died, she almost died, holy hell she almost _died_. She tugs the cords free from his towering, fragmented body. He was hemorrhaging sparks, voice like radio static choking on itself, "Oh God-holy hell-"

The taser comes off in a snap and his body immediately deflates. Still, too still. Without thinking Simone reaches forward and puts a hand on his shoulder, overcome with a desperation to feel he was real, ground his existence beyond a prodigal hallucination, "Oh no-"

"H-Hey come on big guy," she tries, "Don't let me off that easy now, come on."

She waits, hand on his shoulder, one beat, two beats, then three, "Please…"

Instead of answering her Ultron wilts then rises up all at once like a great jack-in-the-box, "Whoopsie-daisy!"

Falling back on her ass, Simone gawks, "You- I- I thought- we-"

"Might want to worry more about yourself, you're welcome for the save, not that anyone's keeping track or anything." He says, one corner of his mouth tugging up in a smirk. That was weird. She wasn't used to seeing an expression match his voice.

He whistled, propping his hands on his hips and making a show of taking in the disarray around them, "Yet who am I to talk it looks like you were set on your own, huh, Sparky?"

"Har har," she drolls.

Ultron falls silent and she watches him take in the scene around them, feeling compelled to follow his gaze; eyes skipping across the frenzied footprints and downed ink-black figures. For a moment she finds herself angry at them, angry at their futility, at their careless rush into the metaphorical lion's den. Like lemmings, she thinks for an awful second.

Ultron fusses over the limp body to his left, until finding what he was searching for with a triumphant 'Aha!'. He tugs off a metal pin and holds it up to the light, laughing, "Now I'll be damned, how did _I_ get on their naughty list?"

He shows it to her proudly, the miniscule button was near comical in the size of his hand yet still grave enough to send frost through her veins. _Hydra_. Her eyes hadn't been playing tricks on her. Simone felt an overwhelming sense of dread as the tiny, silver button shone, glinting down at her in the morning light. She sees it, seeing her.

"Oh fuck-" She pitches over and empties her stomach in the snow, Ultron shrieks.

"Yuck!"

She can't believe she was worried for his life minutes ago.

"Oh, and one more thing," Ultron carries on, nonplussed by her state as she starts rubbing snow on her tongue, "I can't believe you shot me, tell me Simone what kind of response was that? You wound me...literally, there's a scorch mark look."

What was she supposed to do, kiss it better? She groans piteously, trying to spit out the aftertaste of bile, "Buzz off."

"Hmm," He rises to his feet, brushing off the body of the man in black indifferently as he goes. As casual as flicking rain off his shoulder. Simone stops herself from feeling pity, she saw the slithering epitaph Ultron filched off his lapels. She had no warmth in her heart for Hydra, but she couldn't amputate his humanity. Simone makes a law for herself not to stare; and for the most part obeys it.

"I thought you died," She says, more honest than she likes. Somehow, within all the chaos, Simone had forgotten how dizzyingly tall this new body was. The hole where his left arm belonged sparked, she jerks back slightly.

"You did?" His expression changes, she puzzles after it, so used to the faceless body that lived in her basement all these months. He was still identifiable as himself, his mannerisms, his voice, yet displayed freely in a way she'd never seen before, "Did that bother you?"

_Yes._

Simone frowns as hard and convincingly as she could, "In your dreams."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk", He shakes his head before reaching down and yanking Simone to her feet so quickly she didn't realize what was happening until he had her nearly three feet in the air. She wheezes as she lands. Shifting from one foot the other, raw cold stinging her heels.

"You're lucky I'm feeling so benevolent today, Simone, I'm not even hurt! Want to know why?-"

"No."

UItron ignores her, "-because I missed this, the-the clarity of a true body." He let's go of her, which she appreciates. Simone felt like a child with how far up she had to reach just for his hand. Ultron sighes, a great wind leaving his body, "It's like stepping out of a fog."

But stepping in to what? She has to wonder, chewing on the thought as she limped back towards the house. Where would he go from here? Something traitorously close to sadness plucked inside her. Simone shook it off, this was the goodbye she wanted to collect but was too pessimistic to hope for: a mutual separation of paths. She should be happy; he was nothing more than flotsam, in the end, destined to drift to a different shore.

Then why wasn't she more excited?

Simone turns, "Lets go."

He follows quietly despite himself as Simone drifts through the wreckage of her home. Glass shifting under her careful steps was nearly the only noise breaching the solemn quiet. Ultron's body was another; emptiness swallowed by the hum of his engines, like a metal precession. She could feel him watch how she moved, on another day she might tease him for being envious, but now… The woman swiped at her eyes, she wasn't in the mood.

This was the life she built for herself, the life her mother wanted her so desperately to achieve. It wasn't as exciting or world sculpting like that of the lauded few in history's spotlight, but it was hers. She looked at her life husked out, shattered, and it felt like an ending. Simone didn't realize how fragile the illusion of safety really was. The house was always its own dimension to her. A bubble that kept her contained, the one sanctum in a terrible world of titans and mayhem. Simone _enjoyed_ her hermetism, but now her shell was cracked and the enormity of change threatened to swallow her up. Her edges spilling into a vast uncertainty.

Simone clears her throat. She needed to think. She needed a plan.

"I'll be back in 10."

Ultron pauses and looks almost… confused? His new face was still strange to her, any confidence she had in reading his emotions was learned from body-language and tone. Everything was changing faster than she could keep up.

"Don't get lost," he teases half heartedly.

Simone nods and he turns, pausing in the doorway of the basement before deciding better of whatever he was thinking to say. He doesn't close the door behind him so she doesn't hide her watching. Silver disappearing in the dark.

The wall hit her shoulder before she even registered moving to lean for it. She was fucked, surely, and royaly so.

Part of her had still childishly hoped the Avengers would save the day, that was their job wasn't it? Simone scoffs. Sliding down to the floor, rubbing the warmth back into her arms. Bitterness settled inside her with a gentle burn. _Stupid._ The Avengers cared about big, world threatening evils, not a home invasion featuring last year's wash-up villain and a bunch of goons.

Her home was ruined. Drywall and glass littered the floor, it looked like something out of a movie, not her life. She reaches out and traces over the dusty edge of a bullet hole, one of hundreds, dipping in her finger to see how far it went. She can't feel where it ends, but imagines what that hole would've been like through her head, if she'd been a little too slow.

If Ultron hadn't tried warning her.

If he hadn't come back to save her.

Simone can't process it, not now when she isn't even sure she could stand. It was too much, too fast. Sitting in the rubble of her life, the loss threatens to split her in half, bubble up from her belly and drown her alive. Wouldn't Hydra be pleased if her little heart beat itself to death for them, as if she'd do them the pleasure.

"This is so messed up," she sobs, sucking in harshly and letting out a wet, rattling breath.

Simone was too exhausted to hold down her tears, instead she rose to her knees and faced out the shattered living room window. The glass was split open to a stark, endless question of uncertainty. Blank, white apricity taunted her. She had to leave. The only thing left if she stayed was a way to die, but where could she go that Hydra couldn't find? She stares, searching for where she fit in a world of monsters without forsaking the borders of herself.

Simone remembers what Ultron told her months ago, _Quid Pro Quo._ And now she had nothing left to offer.

She inhales and let's go shakily. Skin crawling, and does it again, and again, and again until she's as close to ready as she could be.

Stumbling heavily against the wall she makes it to her bedroom and begins the numb process of changing while shoving anything of inseparable value in an old duffle bag she never got around to throwing out. She brushes her teeth and avoids the mirror, afraid she'll find another reason to cry.

One last walk around was all she needed. Simone indulged in her sentimentality, taking time to pause at every room and catalog the detritus of her short 27 years one last time. It was almost funny, the walls were so bare and she never noticed till now. She should've decorated when she had the chance. "Maybe next time, right?" Simone mumbles bitterly to herself.

She supremely doubted she'd ever live long enough to get that chance at all.

By the end of her march, she stood with a white knuckled grip on her bag, stock still in front of the basement door. She swallowed. The door itself was broken, hanging pathetically off one hinge for all its worth and a massive chunk was missing from the wall. She pictured Ultron dashing up the steps furious, urgent, maybe (if she was indulgent) a little panicked on her behalf. Too focused to give a damn about walls or other things that limit normal people like herself in his great new body. Asshole, she thinks, the damage from that alone would cost a fortune to fix.

"Ultron?" She calls, voice small in its unsteadiness.

She fidgets, rocking on her heels slightly until a small crash and hurried 'Coming! Coming!' echoes up from the dark. Affording him some patience, while the ever growing threat of Hydra reinforcements looms in the back of her mind, Simone resituates farther away.

It's his head that pops out first, red eyes almost immediately focusing on her as the rest of him folds through the doorway with an overwhelming single mindedness.

"Well," Ultron begins standing to his full height, "here we are…"

Simone smiles tightly, "Here we are."

They both fulfilled the obligations of their mutual contract. While it was forced to close, she knew that if there was a time to leave him with no bad blood, it was now.

She didn't want that.

There were dead guys on her driveway(even if they deserved it) and now she was actually _worried_ about missing the guy who put them there. God, she was fucked up.

"So...where's next for you?" She tries.

Ultron blinks, and taps his chin making a big show of mulling it over, "Somewhere warm, no offense, I'm sore for a little green."

She doesn't really know what to say to that, what did she expect-oh, funny you asked I just booked two tickets to Florence and you're already Tallyho, human!

Realizing the air grew dead around them, Simone cleared her throat, desperate to keep it from getting awkward while both of them toed… whatever this line was.

"No more basements?"

Ultron looks away and rubs the back of his head almost sheepishly, "Ah, not if I can't help myself, but you know how it is. Might try and finish the set," He says, raising an arm and wiggling his fingers.

Simone swallowed hard, stepped forward, and met his gaze, "I'd, um-" she swallows again, clearing her throat, why was this so hard? What's the worst he could do, say no? He raised a brow at her, waiting as she found the words, she settled for something vague and hoped he'd connect the dots, "I'd like to see that, the full set I mean."

She at least expected a little snark in return, at least- was she not clear enough? Oh God, what if he left her alone in this broken house over a vaguity, "I'm-going-with-you." Simone pauses. Then for good measure,"Please."

Ultron jerks, jaw slack, " _What?_ You're not asking me to prom, take a breath, Simone."

"Right," Simone says, tensing, "Now that the other shoe finally...dropped, and you're leaving - which is fine, whatever. Of course, but now Hydra knows my fucking face, Hydra! This is so beyond me! I'm definitely freaking out again, I totally am, but I think I'm gonna die and you might too, so why not die together, right? Why not?"

"I can't be left here with questions, I can't! I'm a fatalist it'd suck, and-" She sighs, and inhaled till her lungs ached. It all terrifies her, she knows she's shaking but the thought of being alone. Being disappeared. Having to survive Hydra all alone. Of having to guess for the rest of her unlikely life what happened to Ultron... she can't handle it. Not all at once. Of course didn't want to turn on the news one day and see his head crumpled in like a soda can, that was manageable as awful as it felt to think. But to spend the rest of her life without an answer? Hiding? No. Simone couldn't do that. She wouldn't. Ultron was here and real and listening and knew how to make the earth fly.

She paws at her eye again, she started crying somewhere towards the ends of her speech, "Honestly I don't wanna die, I really don't but I'm not-I'm not-," Simone gestures vaguely, "I need your help, Ultron, I really, desperately need it."

A hand on her shoulder makes Simone jump and meet red eyes with her own, looking down at her with something akin to fondness, a half-hearted smile tugging crookedly on his lips, "Are you sure? There's a standing fifty percent survival rate on my human companion scorecard."

"Are you?" She challenges, "I don't care about them, right now I'm asking you to save my life."

Ultron wipes a tear off her jaw, then reaches down to pry the dufflebag from her fist. He hums faintly in the way he does that hints at a greater thought. A heady thought. Huffing once to irony, he pats her shoulder and stands fully.

"Only one way to find out," He says. Simone grins, laughing unabashedly while trying to snort up her runny nose.

Before he has time to move, or she has time to think about what she's doing, Simone throws her arms around Ultron's waist. His body stiffens but she doesn't care, she burrows her face in and lets herself lose control as relief courses through her body like cool salvation. It wasn't goodbye, not yet. She gives one last squeeze before pushing him back, "I'm gonna make you rust, sorry."

Embarrassed at his lack of response but pleased at the gobsmacked look on his mug, she chuckles for lack of anything else to do.

"Not that I can, but no sweat off my back," Ultron clears his throat and stands, shuffling before holding out his hand, "Come one, let's go. Long flight ahead, and between you and me I heard they don't even serve peanuts."

"Mm, what about on board entertainment? I might go a little cuckoo," Two hands wrap around his, and Ultron grins.

"We'll figure something out."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Together, Simone and Ultron step from the house and its wavering daylights into the world, for whatever it may hold. On the same side of the thin, invisible line that stood between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated! Thanks for reading, cheers!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ultron being a somewhat superficial asshole, but also a sneaky one as he contains multitudes

**_Five Days Later_ **

To say living on the run with Ultron was difficult would be a lie. The things that used to tie her down became immediately obsolete, like the money. Money was something Ultron could pull out of thin air like a magician coaxing rabbits and doves and cheap bouquets from a hat. Money had always found a way of restricting her in the past. Would she make her mortgage payments? Have to cancel her insurance? Would her dealer think she's old and lame for haggling over a dime bag? To him it was hardly even real. A nonissue.

Now, she stalked through the biting New York air guided by the impulses of her stomach. Today was French, yesterday was Haitian, the day before that she wandered up and down the streets of ChinaTown from window to window, slipping between scents. She was passingly aware she was gorging herself from stress, binging almost animalistically, but couldn't find a reason to deny herself that felt worthwhile. The impulse to indulge was stronger than the one to hide in her room and pace. It felt more productive.

She started the morning with strawberry crepes, dipping fresh berries in clouds of cream. Lunch was a puckeringly bitter espresso with two chocolate croissants that melted under her tongue. Dinner was a full bird from Le Coq Rico, chosen because it was the most expensive looking restaurant she happened by around 5 o'clock. She pulled the bird apart with her hands and sucked the fatty oil and rosemary off her fingers one by one. Like a king. She doesn't worry about staining her dress, a pretty green thing, she could buy another.

She drinks half a bottle of wine and laughs alone at the table when she sees 'eggs' spelt with a z on the same menu that sold chicken for $102. Paying while trying to figure out what 'Michelin star' meant from context clues, too embarrassed to ask the waiter as he returns her(Ultron's) card.

Sometime on the walk back to the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge, where she'll stand until Ultron picks her up in a monstrous truck she has to climb into, she plucks out her hearing aids. The fuzzy soup they produced made her nauseous and everything she'd eaten sat behind her teeth, impending.

She sighs and tries not to inhale much of the sour air. The last time she'd been to New York was on vacation with her mother. It was summer, she remembers holding onto the soft cotton of her mother's Laura Ashley skirts, bending back to see the tops of skyscrapers. Her mother came alive in the city, asking people to take their photos in mundane places while peppering them with questions about their lives like she was catching up with old friends. She was always exuberant but never like she was in New York; dancing through the steel maze like living light, romantic and in love with being alive.

But that was 20 years ago, and Simone was not her mother. City life didn't suit her, it choked her. Pressed overhead, acrid and syrupy, like being encased in amber. Every other block Simone walked she dipped into buildings and stuffed herself in bathroom stalls. She'd find herself sitting on a toilet lid, face squished between her knees, waiting until the patterned tile was burnt into her retinas. When she finally walked outside again, the buildings leered down at her, blocking the sun. All Simone saw was a cage threatening to buckle in on itself. At any moment there could be another Loki, another Hulk, another cataclysm, another cause for Assembly.

The threat breathed down her neck, hot and sticky, every day felt like pushing luck.

Ultron had booked a hotel for her, one with a view and a tub she could lay down in. Fancier than anything she knew what to do with. He wanted her away from… whatever he was doing. Something about forging materials, stealing from a university that had machines rare enough to make the delicate parts of himself. She liked that consideration, but couldn't enjoy it. Not when she fell asleep with the Avenger's A peaking between pillars of glass, watching. She was excited to leave and shed the Orwellian paranoia brought on by literally shitting on the Avenger's doorstep.

And she knew Ultron put her there to insult his old enemies. A personal 'fuck you' while he had the chance. _Look what I can do right under your nose._ That was the only reason to even risk New York in the first place, she supposed.

Being on the bridge and knowing it was their last day in the proverbial belly of the beast, soothed her anxieties slightly. Simone was instantly comforted by the open sky and how it makes her feel small in a sharp way, unlike the throngs in SoHo or Times Square where she felt… blurred. Here she was a person, not a lump sum. 

She sees Ultron's truck before it reaches her. Relieved, she waves, stretching up on her tippy-toes to flag him down even though there wasn't a chance he'd miss her.

"Hey," Simon greets, quickly hauling herself up into the cabin. She was met by a drone, his main body was sequestered to the cargo box. It was the only place he'd fit, "Hold on a sec," tapping her empty ear as she gets settled.

"Bonjour, bonjour! Ça roule, ma poule?," Ultron chirps, "How were the flavors of France away from France?"

"Oh _delightful_ , sir, I didn't know how to say a single thing."

"And I'm assuming you made the poor servers revisit each pronunciation?"

Simone smirks co-conspiratorially, wine-loose and heavy limbed, "At least everything thrice, everywhere I went." She holds up a matching set of fingers to emphasize her trickiness.

"You're wicked, and while I'm at it a shameless hedonist," He's scolding her but there's no real fire behind the words, just gentle teasing. She was relieved to see him again, after three long days.

"Take that back, I got you a surprise," Simone gasps, eyes crinkling.

"With my money," he reminds her.

" _Stolen_ money!"

"Mm, well, no one was using it at the time."

"Exactly!" She sticks her tongue out at him and fishes out the small bag labelled _I Heart NY_ from her jacket lining, proudly depositing it on the dashboard with gusto. He wouldn't take it now, despite everything he was still too proud to accept something from her, in front of her.

"You're welcome," She pesters.

Delighting in the mundanity, Simone rests her head back and watches him pull off the curb in precise, curt movements. He was most inhuman in his exactness. In the way he didn't slip into French or any language but rather _clicked,_ his American accent jettisoned for whatever was appropriate. Like changing a channel; Simone snorts.

She lets him drive in peace, lazy from a belly full of food that tasted even better knowing she didn't pay for it. By the time Ultron almost works them off the bridge she's nodding off while he fiddles between FM stations looking for the rich, vintage music he'd taken to lately. It dripped from the speakers like honey.

"Did you get everything you needed?" She asks blearily.

Ultron nods, gliding into the turn lane, "For now. As much as I dislike being transient I'd rather err on the side of caution. There isn't enough room in this box to fit all the pieces. I'll have to trade out tools, for now, and frequently."

"Oh, that's gonna be a bitch. Can you at least finish your arm?" Simone eyed him from her side of the cab. She had a vested interest, the sooner he was at full strength the sooner he'd have both hands on deck if it came down to protecting her, literally.

Ultron tuts, "Ever thee of little faith, Simone, but yes. We'll be stopping in Jersey City for material, steel, lots of it...then my Aegis will be finally reforged, and the anvil that thought to strike me down will become a crucible of great _rebirth_."

"That sounds nice, doesn't it? Rebirth." He always sounded somewhere else when he spoke lyrically, beyond her reach and but within her grasp. Simone remembered when that used to terrify her, and if she was honest it still did. Now, however, in their proximity the slipping of Ultron's mind felt nothing but familiar. She thinks of her mother, a thousand miles away. 

"Okay," She says, for lack of anything else,"I'm gonna get chicken savoy."

"You just had chicken."

She shrugs, turning back to the window, "It's Halal-can you even taste?"

"Eugh!" Ultron gagged, "No. Eating is beyond me, the whole process is so...Ugh, no, I physically can't make myself think about it."

The sun hung, a low hanging fruit, ripe, dipping like a swollen orange beneath the toothy New York skyline. Her reflection smiles despite herself, "Baby."

They were almost off the bridge, out of suffocating New York, the toll booth signage shone above the backs of dozens of unassuming economy cars. Her palms itched to be off the bridge, to be somewhere Ultron could maneuver if a Hydra agent crept from the innards of a Toyota Corolla that seemed innocuous at first glance.

"...On the road again…," Ultron began humming, fingers tapping against the wheel, "...Just can't wait to get on the road again…"

Simone wasn't there when Ultron procured the truck, or the E-Z pass and credit cards that made it so easy to just… Disappear. Another magic trick from the AI that could make money appear at will. They had spent a day flying, misdirecting and back tracking, before he deposited her in Vermont with her duffle bag, a handful of cash, and a simple set of instructions: wait until sunrise, then go out front.

The motel he chose was a stuffy, dim, Clarion with cheap lights that flickered in a jaundiced yellow. It was near forgotten on the edge of a highway by everyone but desperate road-trippers and overworked truckers. No one at the front desk so much as looked at her when they shoved a room key across the table and let a speech about complimentary breakfast pour around their tongue like it hurt. This was probably what Ultron intended; no one would remember her face there. 

Exhausted but too wired to sleep she automatically began the long work of barricading the door and windows with furniture. Beds, counters, TVs, chairs, all drafted to her cause. The radio was her only connection to the outside world. She flipped through it endlessly for any sign Ultron was found before giving up and walking into the bathroom. She didn’t recognize the reflection staring back at her, suddenly she had realized exactly why no one had wanted to look at her. The rings around her eyes looked like swollen bruises, her hair was wild, windblown and stringy. She looked wane. 

Simone pressed two fingers in the corners of her eyes until she saw stars and gave herself a prefuncary wash with a hand towel and bar of soap. A shower was too vulnerable. She hadn’t felt clean, the tap water clung to her skin like a membrane, but she sat in the middle of her room, flicking through the radio. She never dared to look away from the door, waiting for a Hydra agent to force it down and-

Their dashboard began to rattle.

"Uh oh," Ultron says, astutely.

"What's happening?" Simone jerks up in her seat, trying to get a vantage point, gagging when the belt locks on her. She turned to him, "Ultron?!" He sat in the driver's seat nonplussed, and started fiddling with the rearview mirror. 

"Ah, you didn't hear, it seems there was an explosion, let's see," He shakes out his hand as a finger shifts into a glowing point, then jams it down the radio, static and music shuffle until the first voice, a woman’s voice, rang out from the scramble. Other’s flooded after her, caught in the wake. 

" _City dispatch advises all streets blocked, unable to get responders to Park Avenue._

_Received, en route from West 45th Street possible explosion on 200 Park Avenue, there seems to be some sort of garbage truck blocking the street._

_Ambulances stopped on E 50 to Lexington Ave, responders report large parked vehicles on the road here as well, standing by._

_Is Grand Central operational?_

_Negative. all trains are stalled out of station, the whole grid's gone dark._

_Please confirm, 10-71?_

_10-71 positive, explosion sighted from Avengers tower. Repeat, a bomb has gone off in The Avengers Tower."_

"Goodie, goodie!" Extracting his finger, Ultron sounds ecstatic. Practically bouncing off the walls of the cabin. She was horrified. Not of him, not for them, but the pressure of the city found its way to her again. If they got trapped on the bridge their only escape would be Ultron flying off with her swaddled up like a baby in broad daylight, and what if the Avengers came? She couldn't count on Ultron to stick to his word; what would he do if they appeared, all heroic and _involved_?

He would drop everything. Including her. 

It was times like these where they felt like two ends of a magnet repelling and pulling each other's emotions. She sat, weaker than dust, frailer than air, with her fractured hope predisposed to shatter. She flounders, and looks to her companion.

"Hey, don't look at me," Ultron says.

Simone breathes in and out, cognizant of the instinct to get out of the car and search the horizon for a scar of black smoke, all in bid to prove the truth to herself. She doesn't move, "Do you think it's Hydra?"

"The Avengers aren't exactly in the business of making _friends,"_ He spits the last word with venom, then shrugs, mood instantly lightened, "Though, I wouldn't be surprised. They don't strike me as the type, it's a little passé... wouldn't you say?" He paused, "Ha! That rhymes."

She can practically hear his thoughts, _what villain worth their salt hasn't done_ something _to that Tower!_

"It can't be a coincidence."

"Does it particularly matter to us?” Yes, she thinks, “Let hoi polloi worry it over. No need to make a mole into mountain...wait no that's not right-"

Simone scowls out the window, stuck. Ultron was being dismissive, but she didn’t believe the act, it was too smooth, like water rolling over his back. If he didn’t want to talk about it, she wouldn’t press. There was a long car ride ahead.

She sighs.

"Mountains into molehills," Simone offers weakly, head thudding against the dash. The chicken was no longer sitting well in her stomach, she imagines it coming together and trying to peck its way out, "I'm gonna be sick."

"Out the window if you do, please."

She gives him a loose salute, pressing her eyes closed and focusing on the smell of the car around her. It still had that lingering newness that fogged the air, ethyl benzene, formaldehyde, organobromides, she lists what she remembers in her head from a freelance job two years ago. The client was a man so she over-researched as a preventative to being condescended. She let the chemical scents of the truck and lavender air freshener, that Ultron swore came complimentary, fill her up. They inch forward minute by minute, as he promised. Her body unwinds as the toll pass nears and eventually slides by.

"On the road again… Goin' places that I never been," Simone would never tell him in a thousand years, as annoying as it was, his voice wasn't the worst, "...Seein' things that I may never see again…"

She falls asleep sometime past the New Jersey border, to an AI's voice reverberating through the cabin, dress curled around her knees.

“On the road again-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ultron's french is basically 'what's up, chickadee'/'whats up chick' (according to google)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Hope you like, I had fun googling the Avengers Tower address- did you know it's where the metlife building is? That ultimately means nothing to me bc they sell insurance, but I had a fun 10 minutes confusing it with where the Met Gala's held- imagine Rihanna in the Avengers tower, just hanging out... much to think about.
> 
> Thanks for the Kudos!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Professional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the part where I make Tony Stark and his juice habit a running joke. Seriously he had juice in like three/four movies.

Natasha Romanoff was starting to feel like she was being had.

She remembered scouting the lonely house perched in the backwood slopes of Maine. Gravel crackling underneath the chunky Stark-issue snow tires, easing down the long, skinny driveway. Two months ago Nastasha leaned into the rearview mirror exactly as she did now. The Acura RDX supplied to her was a reliable car, but cheap; the Milano leather groaned against her weight. Normally, cars like this would be lined with leatherette or polyurethane, Stark's habit of vanities eked out in small ways like authentic leather or custom tires, even when he was trying to be subtle. Maybe she was just accustomed to nitpicking. Her job was funny like that.

In the past, she examined the lace on her wig, patting the glue, ensuring its blend into her scalp was perfect before exiting the car and shrinking her gate into the timid two-step of a census taker. Blonde was her least favorite color for herself, she was glad to be free of it this time around. Her red hair stood out in the snow like a firebrand.

She surveyed dozens of houses that trip, and the one she was at now certainly hadn't stood out. The file in her hand flipped open, the owner: Simone Kadam, a short, brown-skinned woman with shoulder length black hair and wide, dark eyes, looked frazzled back up at her. Natasha had a good memory. The Spider recalls being sat on her couch, sipping water as she skimmed over the contents of Simone's bookshelves while sharing an unremarkable conversation. She'd written it off as the hospitality of a woman who cherished her privacy. No different than the dozens of other interviews she conducted that day.

The little picture burned back up at her.

"What were you hiding?" Natasha mumbled.

Last time, she had trotted up to the house mildly annoyed her shoes would be wet since Simone didn't bother to shovel, either not caring or not expecting guests; she'd rung the doorbell and plastered on a sucrose smile.

Now there wasn't even a doorbell to ring.

Simone Kadam's house was... missing. Right down to the foundation.

It was uncanny, no dirt tainted the heavy snow around the property. There was only a deep, black absence in the outline of a one bedroom, single-story complex. The pipes were broken, sticking out of the dirt like sapling trees, either frozen or wheezing against their inevitable frost. The death-song of metal and water let her know whatever happened here was recent, that the bills had been paid. Natasha has a realization: It was possible Simone Kadam wasn't expecting to leave.

Or maybe she was already gone, and this was all another misdirection. A stratagem she was too close to see.

She felt a twang of deep, cloying frustration. This was the second person to slip between her fingers without warning. Bruce Banner's sanctimonious 'retirement' chewed at the back of her conscience. How much longer would she be chasing shadows?

Natasha stands on the edge of the pit, and drops. The landing rattles off her ankles as she tries to reimagine the floor plan before it was reduced to a hole in the ground. A pipe hissed, stuck up from the earth cartoonishly like a gnarled zombie claw. Reaching.

Nothing about what she was seeing made sense. There were a few distinct tire prints in the snow but not enough to possibly, a truck, she figured, by the fat diagonal cuts of ten radial ply tires, but a semi wasn't enough to move an entire building; not in one piece, not without at least getting the snow dirty. It was like the house decided to get up and fly away with Simone Kadam inside it.

"Ms. Romanoff!"

She looked up, a portly agent with a loose tie tugged at his coat and waved down at her, "Ms. Romanoff we've got to go, there's been an incident!"

Natasha squints, reluctant to be pulled away from her work, "Did one of the boys break something again?"

"No ma'am, there was a bomb."

"Oh."

"Yes, ma'am," The suit agrees remorsefully, he reaches down to offer her a hand, "The Quinjet is on its way."

Natasha sighed, and reached up to meet his grasp when she saw it, a shiny little bauble among the frozen dirt:

A lone silver finger.

"Today is not my day."

"No ma'am, I don't believe it is."

.l.l.

By the time Natasha made it back to New York, Tony had worked himself into a frenzy. The sound of his hell-raising slipped under the milky glass of the Avengers' new, unofficial office. They had had an official one, but apparently it'd been blown up in the five hours that Natasha's been away. None of the Avengers were home at the time of detonation. Seven agents, five scientists, and one secretary died in their place. Swept up in their lapse. The youngest was 18, Eva Silberman, a brilliant local girl who joined their team after Loki. They gave her a scholarship to be there. Natasha imagines all 13 of them sitting in the bottom of a sink and turning on the tap, they swirl down the hole without a peep, washed away forever.

The door stops her, hand hovering over the keypad. She didn't want to see anyone. Tony should've told the staff to go home. Maybe he had but they, spurned by the death of their colleagues, decided to stay. Maybe they were just doing their job, like her, maybe she was projecting her desire to have something, anything done, onto them. Staying was the professional thing to do. It's what Natasha would do. Seeing herself in others had always made her uncomfortable.

Natasha hits the button, the door slides open with a hiss.

"Nat!" Steve greets, visibly relieved to see her. He got up and walked over to clap her on the back, pulling her close. He forced as much of a grin as he could. It wasn't much, "Thank god you're here, I'm at the end of my line."

"Sorry pal, I'm not here to take over Stark-sitting," She returns his look, they're exhaustion matched.

Tony flipped them off.

' _Cranky,'_ Steve mouthed to her. He shrugged and retreated back to his seat at the head of the 'd undoubtedly been working double time to direct agents while backtracking on Tony's snippy, turbid storm. Meanwhile the former spun around the room kicking his feet up on any surface at his disposal, pointing pens like a Yad for this or that. Highlighting a specific moment in the security footage, or tapping incessantly on a line of text until he got the response he needed.

"You two are so adorable when you play together," Natasha teased, after she'd settled on one of the sleek, black office chairs along the table. She ran her thumb over the material; real leather.

"How're you guys holding up?" She turned to Tony for the sake of pestering him, and asked, "There's a startling lack of green slime out here, have you had your juice yet?"

"No, I haven't had my juice, Natasha." He replied in his best are-you-seriously-doing-this-now-I voice, "But hey, we're alive, at least."

' _Cranky,'_ Steve mouthed to her, again.

Tony flapped his hand, done with them, shunting the catch-up chat to Steve. He went back to picking through a stack of manilla folders on the cluttered table. Natasha paused, realizing the fern from the old conference room was sat in the chair next to him, somehow it survived the blast a few floors above.

Of course it was okay, she'd only been trying to kill the damn thing for months.

"We got most of the rubbled cleared, but as far as we can tell whoever did this either died in the explosion or hightailed it back to hell.."

"It's the later," Tony chimed in, pointedly ignoring Steve, "FRIDAY's missing 20 minutes of data, completely scrubbed."

"Enough time to get in and take something," Natasha surmised, "You think someone had a case of sticky fingers?"

"Yes, exactly, and Jesse James or not there's no denying they're camera shy. You don't go to all that trouble incapacitating FRIDAY unless you're worried about showing up on a shit list for breaking my stuff. I mean our stuff. I mean our stuff that I made and paid for."

"Thank you, Tony. Alright, so they get the Iron Legion, FRIDAY, and wait till we leave house to take… what, exactly?"

Tony sighed and threw his pen across the room. It bounces off the glass with a sad _plink,_ "Ladies, and gentlemen, the billion dollar question."

Steve raised an eyebrow at her, silently saying, _watch this._

"Isn't it a 'million dollar' question?"

"Steve, be nice, he's thirsty."

Rogers held up both hands innocently. Absolving himself.

Tony paused, and whipped up from his ipad before snatching off the crimson Tom Ford sunglasses he insisted on wearing everywhere he went, irregardless of setting. They made him look ridiculous and perpetually hungover. _It's the fluorescents,_ he justified to her once, _makes me feel like a gerbil, you know?_ The Tony in her memory sucked his teeth, approximating a gerbil sound. "You enable each other too much, it's despicable. Especially you, Patriot Act."

He sighed, tragically, "I try and introduce you ungrateful bastards to something healthy on on a _lark_ -"

"FRIDAY, could you please send someone up with juice for Mr. Stark?" She pouted at him in mock sympathy, "Poor thing hasn't had any _all_ day." Steve snorted into his water bottle.

"Yes, Ma'am!" The program lilted.

"FRIDAY, belay that." He waved his hand around, scrubbing her words away. "You won't think you're so funny when I'm pushing 90 and still maintaining homeostasis."

"I'm doing all right," Steve said.

Tony frowns in displeasure, his most reliable dig against the Captain turned against him, "It's not funny when you do it."

They let the room fall silent, only the sound of Tony aggressively flicking through papers, manifests, inventory lists, Stark Tech pads with project files running diagnostics for potential stolen tech, and the dull steps of agents thudding beyond the walls. He was being thorough, feverishly so. Natasha's mood darkens, the implications of someone stealing his tech were vast and numerously terrifying. Tony was trying to keep his cool but moved like a man possessed when left alone. He looked wane. They both did.

Steve clears his throat, sensing the shift. He meant well but she wanted to punch him for breaking the silence, "So, how was Maine?"

"Mixed. Do you want the weird news or the bad news, first?"

"Bad." Tony said immediately, "And don't give me that look, Rogers, it's band-aid praxis."

She sighed, setting her briefcase on the table, rhythmically sliding the combination in its steel lock, it opened with a click, clean and mechanical, "Deep breaths for this one, boys." She flips the case and slides it to Stark. Rogers wheeled around the table to peer over his shoulder. The both of them stared, dumbstruck by the dangerous implication of a single, robotic finger.

It was Steve who spoke first, "Fuck... is that?"

"I think it wants to be."

Tony jumps, "Aha! Admit it, you don't think it's him."

"I don't know what I think, but I _know_ Ultron wouldn't just forget a body part... unless Tony has another side project he failed to enlighten us on." Natasha paused, "Someone's working very hard to point fingers."

"That doesn't mean we can ignore this."

She nodded to Steve, trying not to show insult that he assumed she would. Natasha covered all of her bases. She was a professional-something they repeatedly found issue with, yet habitually managed to forget while on the clock. A good agent was a good multitasker, Natasha kept her voice neutral, "Good thing I've got two hands, then."

"I'm not saying we _ignore it,_ but we're being cattled," She said. "That finger was at one of the houses Stark told me to check up on. With the way I found it, it may as well have been gift wrapped."

Steve nods, appeased, she smiled.

"Anyone else getting sick of being led around like dogs?" Tony grumbled, throwing down the folder, "I've got this running hypothesis connecting all our recent spats, something about.. 'Workplace Drama'-"

"We are historically easy to manipulate." Steve said, running interference.

She clicked her tongue, "You said it, not me."

He frowned, Steve often looked like he was chewing on something sour when he thought. It tended to rub people the wrong way, made them think he was judging over deliberating, "Whatever the game is, I'm not so sure this and the explosion aren't mutually exclusive. What about the owner-" He paused to find the name, "Simone Kadam?"

"Now for the weird-" Natasha got up and moved to stand behind the two, shuffling through the documents herself.

She extracted a smaller parcel and laid her prize across the tempered glass, all photos of where Simone Kadam's house should have been. The material slapped against the table, a metronome of crater after crater after crater, "-Suffice to say, no one was home. I knocked."

"27, unwed, expired passport, oh, work history says she never worked for me, thank God...," Tony rattled on, he stopped reading to let out a deep sound of disgust in the middle of Simone's dossier, "A liberal arts major."

"She's the only lead we have. Everything beyond that I'm drawing blanks," But why? The reason was blurry, amorphous, Natasha read everything in that file a dozen times over. What was the connection between Simone Kadam and Ultron's shrike? The details flitted around in her skull like gnats, but never connected to anything, never striking a thread in her web. All they had were 13 dead agents and a name.

"This could be our golden ticket." Steve says. The bags under his eyes looked heavy, sunken, "Right now, I don't care about the house, we need her here. Yesterday."

"Well, it's settled." Tony announced, rising to his feet. The roller chair went careening out behind him. She recognized the new fire in his eyes. They needed this: the next mission.

"Let the hunt for Simone Kadam, begin!"

Natasha grinned, _come out, come out, wherever you are._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, things are gearing up. Glad to be sticking in more of the cast, despite how bugged out writing them makes me(queue the constant terror of making them OOC VS personal headcannons.)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you all are well.
> 
> Writing as I worked really hard on this chapter, leave a review and say hi! It'd mean a lot!


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